


Gateway

by Cesare



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Bondage, Consensual Violence, Inspired by Art, M/M, Metal bondage, Metal kink, Rough Sex, Self bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:57:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Please view the tags for content advisories.</p><p>Inspired by an image from the amazing <a href="http://laurazelart.tumblr.com/post/12881921136/laurazel-in-my-headcanon-when-charles-is-on">Laurazel</a> (link NSFW.) Of her image she wrote: "In my headcanon, when Charles is on top he tries always to be a loving and caring lover, just to show to Erik that everyone deserve to be loved in the most sweet and devoted way possible. Erik likes it rough instead, because he thinks he doesn’t deserve sweetness. So he knows how to force Charles to make love in his own terms!"</p><p>I kept thinking about that, and especially how in the drawing, the point of the fence rod is giving Charles a little stab, and this happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gateway

"You're being absurd, Erik," Charles says.

"Oh?" Erik leans back against the gate. The picket rods are made of carburized mild steel, and they bend readily to his power. It was a gate a little like this one that brought him to ruin, a long time ago. It's soothing in a way to master it so easily now, to feel the metal loop around his shoulders, his legs, at his command.

"Are you just going to stand there watching me make a fool of myself," he asks, "or are you going to come over here and be ridiculous with me?"

As Erik predicted, the words soften Charles and bring him closer, near enough to be snared. "I didn't say ridiculous, I certainly don't think you're a fool," he says. "Absurd, as in contrary, or..." Charles doesn't, of course, seem surprised when the picket rods begin to stretch and snake around him. "Perverse," he finishes dryly, and stands there, insufferably patient, as Erik circles the steel around his wrists and pins them behind him.

Erik trusses his own wrists as well. No tender touches this time, no reverent flutters of Charles's fingers over his skin, no seeking out freckles or tracing lips. He wants nothing but Charles driving into his body tonight.

"You can say you like to go slowly," Erik tells him, tugging him closer with the pickets. "You can pretend you only want to be gentle, but _I see you._ You think I don't?" His power can contort all that steel, it's certainly sufficient to open the fly of his trousers, and of Charles's too...

Almost. "I'm afraid the button is bone, dear," Charles says, and he merely watches as Erik glares at him-- any non-metal fastening on Charles is a personal affront to Erik-- and frees a hand to undo it.

"I see you," Erik repeats, sliding his hand into Charles's trousers. Absurd or no, something has him firm already, his cock growing solid and perfect at a squeeze of Erik's hand.

"It's you," Charles murmurs. "Just you."

"Very sweet," Erik says, pumping Charles in his fist. "Does this seduction technique usually work for you? Let me guess. You'll tell me in the morning."

Charles narrows his eyes. "You can make me angry," he says, "but you can't make me hurt you."

"I don't think I'll have to make you," Erik answers. "I think you want to. Eventually even you are going to have to admit it."

Charles tries to kiss him, and Erik uses the picket rods to hold him back; he grips the nape of Charles's neck and Charles parts his lips, expecting Erik to deliver a more punishing kiss instead. Erik ignores that. He uses his power over zippers and rivets to peel their trousers down, and forces Charles closer with the steel rods curved behind him, twisting one to give Charles a provoking little prod with the pointed tip of the finial.

The metal is cold, barely warming where it touches them, but it feels good to Erik, it feels right. Charles's pupils grow wide and dark as Erik makes himself a stirrup for his leg and spreads his thighs, maneuvering them both into position, so close...

"The things you must have seen," Erik says, hushed even though they're alone out here, half a mile from the mansion, a hedge between them and the rest of their world. "Is that how you think of it? Seeing? Hearing? _Reading,_ that's a word you like to use; reading us all like books? All those thousands of books. No one likes to think about it, because no one likes to admit that if you've read secrets that deep from others, you can read them from us."

"I can, but I don't," Charles says sternly. Despite the restraints, he's not worried at all, and why would he be? The steel around his wrists, hard against the backs of his legs... that strength is nothing compared to what Charles can do. None of this would be happening if Charles weren't _letting_ it happen.

"How old were you when it started?" Erik asks. "How curious were you, to know what people do in the dark? How long did it take you to look?"

He can tell he has Charles near to snapping, but not near enough; Charles is squaring his shoulders and tipping back his chin, any moment now he'll make this stop. He'll have Erik here and now, but on his terms, _making love,_ milk and honey when Erik wants blood. Erik can at least give him a snarl to sort out once he takes control-- Erik weaves the picket rods around each other freely behind him, around his own arm, his own neck.

And _that_ turns the tide. Charles stares at the metal around Erik's throat, inhales sharply when Erik tightens it.

"A few secrets of your own?" Erik provokes, and draws the steel a little tighter still. Charles tries to free his hands, and can't, and Erik has him now: he's blushing, gasping, his mouth almost violently red. He tries for another kiss that Erik won't let him take, and Charles _growls,_ no less, with frustration.

"Tell me," Erik insists.

Charles swallows and throws a glance at the hulking shape of the mansion. His voice low, he says, "When my mother and stepfather lived here, they had dinner parties, and most of the guests stayed over. But scarcely any of them stayed in their rooms the night through. The things they did to each other... nothing surprising. But the things they _wanted_ to do..."

It's too easy for Erik to picture... Charles as a child in that house, very small, huddled in his bed and besieged by thoughts that must have seemed monstrous to him then. Might still seem that way now.

Charles looks at Erik now with the gaze Erik always seeks from him: alone as equals. Charles says, "The things people want. You would believe it. But of everyone I've known, perhaps only you would believe it."

He would. "I'm ready," Erik says, stepping onto the rail he's creating for himself. He's already slick with Vaseline, he's felt sloppy and vulgar all night like this, and he wants Charles that way too, he wants to make a mess of them. Erik manipulates their bodies almost as easily as the metal, moving them until Charles is pressing against him at the perfect angle. "I've _been_ ready. Fuck me."

"This is just bodies," Charles pants, though from the way he looks, this isn't _just_ anything for him. "It's not what you want," but Erik only has to tighten two loops of steel a fraction further-- around Charles's wrists and his own neck-- and Charles tenses, and gives in, finally, thrusting into Erik's body all at once, hard and rough, with an indelicate grunt. It's already his favorite sound he's ever drawn from Charles's lips.

"Then give me what I want," Erik hisses as Charles withdraws. "Give me a fight."

Charles delivers, too fast and too much and exactly what Erik's been craving all night; he spurs Charles on with the picket rods. He can feel the moment Charles starts exerting his power to take over Erik's own, the metal uncoiling from Charles's wrists, and that won't do, Charles will just put everything back on his terms again, caresses and kindness and _Erik, I love you_ s that Erik doesn't deserve and doesn't want.

Erik seizes back control and catches Charles's hands with the picket rod again, and from then it's a free-for-all... Charles might ordinarily be able to take over easily, but not when he's this lust-dazed, and his every shove into Erik's body drives them each a little more mad. They're both wrecked by now, sweating and mindlessly straining against each other, and everything is raw power, physical and mental, clashing and tangling. The gate shrieks around them as they wrest control, one strand of metal grinding against another and another and another.

Charles snatches a fragment of victory by suddenly throwing himself back-- a finial pierces his skin, the copper and iron of his blood coating the steel tip. He slips out of Erik's body and out of Erik's grasp around his nape, and this time Erik can't hold him back from claiming a kiss. Charles pushes forward again, his cock unspeakably wet and slippery against Erik's as he seals their bodies together, his mouth demanding on Erik's, sucking at his tongue.

«Not like this,» Erik thinks frantically, «in me, _Charles_ \--»

At once Charles wriggles a hand free and guides himself back into Erik's body, choking on his breath as Erik uses his metal supports to drop himself down onto Charles _hard_. He keeps moving himself with the steel, taking what he wants, and Charles grabs Erik with his freed hand, jerking his length roughly, his own hips finally moving with the kind of speed and power Erik's wanted to feel from him, what he's desperate for, what brings him off with a last peal of scraping metal.

«Don't move,» Charles puts into his mind, and he takes his last few strokes the way he always wants it: slow, full, smooth, his mouth melting against Erik's, now, his hands warm on Erik's chilled skin, loosening the metal with his gestures and his mind. Even now, even here, the border of the estate, the middle of the night, the gate still a twisted web around them, Charles caresses Erik as if it's a privilege just to be allowed to touch. He buries his face against Erik's neck as he comes, and when he lifts his head he looks at Erik with so much open adoration that Erik wants to slap him just to remind Charles who he is.

He can't, though. He can't bring himself to hurt Charles; he already regrets the way Charles hurt himself, the tiny stab left by the tip of the picket rod. Erik blunted all the finials as soon as he felt it happen, and some of them are nearly flat now. Most of the picket rods wind and fold around each other like a mass of cooked pasta noodles, rendered in steel.

Erik lets himself down, catching his breath. He wipes off with his handkerchief and orders his clothes while Charles does the same, watching him, his eyes thoughtful and eerie in the night.

"You'd better go back to the house," Erik says, "clean up that puncture. I'll stay and finish fixing the gate."

Charles catches his hand and tugs him firmly along. "Leave it," he says as Erik follows. "I think I like it better this way."


End file.
